The Bishop's Tale

Chapter Seven

“Subvenita, Sancti Dei, occuritte, AngeliDomini: Suscipientes animan ejus: Offerentes eam in conspectuAltissimi.” Come to his aid, Saints of God; hurry to meethim, Angels of the Lord. Take up his soul: Bring it into thesight of the Most High.

The service was making its dark and eloquentway through the Mass for the Dead. The day's sunlight throughthe bright windows added richness to the elaborate vestments of thepriests and Cardinal Bishop Beaufort, and strewed jewel colors overthe darkly dressed mourners crowded in the nave. Under thegrowing cloud of incense, the church grew warm with the manypeople, a warmth welcome after the slow, cold procession behind thecoffin from the manor house.

“In quo nobis spes beatae resurrectioniseffulsit…” In whom the hope of a blessed resurrectiondawned for us…

Drained by her own grief and the necessitiesof the past days and the suppressed griefs around her, Frevisse letthe service carry her as it would. Elegant, complex, the Masscomforted sorrow with the divinely given hope that death was notthe end. Even weeping seemed irrelevant for the while.

“Vere dignum et justum est, aequum etsalutare, nos tibi semper et ubique gratiasagere…” Truly it is fitting and just, reasonableand good, for us to give thanks to you always and everywhere…

But in some way none of this solemnity seemedanything to do with Thomas Chaucer as she knew him, the man who hadalways challenged her to think, a man full of laughter andsometimes teasing and often kindness.

But then, in essence, the Mass of the Deadhad nothing to do with that part of Chaucer that had been hisearthly self, but with the part of him that would live foreternity. The part of him that was now purged of earthlymatters and emotions. The part of him she did not know andhad not yet learned to love in place of the other who had goneforever.

The pastor of Ewelme began his sermon withthe customary reminder, “Behold this coffin containing its deadburden as you would a mirror, for surely you will come to this inyour turn…”

Frevisse turned her mind to prayers of herown until the Mass continued.

“Et ideo cum Angelis et Archangelis, cumThronis et Dominationibus, comque omni militia caelistis exercitus,hymnum gloria tuae canimus, sine fine dicentes: Sanctus, Sanctus,Sanctus…” And so, with angels and archangels, withthrones and dominions and all the assembly of the heavenly host, wesing hymns to your glory, without end saying: Holy, holy,holy…

Around the altar the priests and deaconsmoved in their ritual patterns, Bishop Beaufort foremost amongthem, perfect in every movement and gesture, as if what he did wasinfinitely precious. As truly it was. But he made itseem as outwardly so as it was inwardly, a rare and beautiful thingto watch and listen to.

Chaucer would have appreciated that, Frevissethought. He had loved beautiful things, from a delicatelyswirled and tinted Venetian glass goblet brought from overseas withinfinite care and cost, to the subtleties of a sunset over his ownhills.

Was there anything like that in Heaven forhim to love?

Or was Heaven all Love, with no need ordesire distinguishing one soul from another? What was itlike, to be pure spirit? And how, without throats, did theangels endlessly sing Holy, holy, holy? And the saints hearthem without ears?

“Circumdabo altare tuun, Domine… enarremuniversa mirabilia tua.” I will go about your altar,Lord… describing all your wonders.

Chaucer's body was blessed and censed andgiven at last to its tomb. The last prayers were said, forall the dead, past and to come. The prayers felt as real as acomforting arm, and Frevisse wrapped the words aroundherself. “Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine. Et luxperpetua luceat eis. Requiescant in pace. Amen.” Eternal rest give to them, Lord. And letperpetual light shine upon them. May they rest inpeace. Amen.

The mourners eased their way out of thechurch, into the bright day and cold wind. The sky that hadbeen clear when they entered the church was now streaked with high,thin clouds, and to Frevisse's mind there was the smell of snow tocome, or very bitter frost. The villagers were crowded aroundthe church porch, waiting for the funeral alms and to bless thewidow and Countess Alice as they came by. Frevisse, behindher aunt, was bemused to find she was expected to walk withSuffolk, an unlikely occurrence under any other circumstances, butat least there was no need to speak to one another, and they didnot. She had no good opinion of him, not much opinion at all,though she remembered Chaucer had once said, on a visit to St.Frideswide's after their betrothal, “They're well-matched in wealthand affection, and he has power and she has sense. Theyshould do well enough.”

She half expected Sir Clement Sharpe mighttake the chance between the church and manor house to approach AuntMatilda. His gall and lack of manners did not apparentlypreclude such rudeness. But she only saw him distantly amongthe crowd as they slowed to cross the bridge from the outeryard. His nephew Guy was to one side and there was a glimpseof Lady Anne's fair hair to his other. Let them keep theirtroubles to themselves today, Frevisse thought, and tomorrow theywould be gone with the rest of the guests.

Once inside the manor house, they came intothe hands of the household usher, Master Gallard. Today theusher’s main task was to oversee the sorting of everyone into theirproper places along the outer sides of the long trestle tables setfacing each other in a double row the length of the great hall,from the high table on the dais at the hall's upper end to thescreens passage at its foot. Among the matters Aunt Matildahad fretted over yesterday had been the question of whether therewould be enough room for everyone; but the time of year, and theweather, had held back the number who came. There was roomenough, though barely.

The principal problem – and one Frevisse wasglad fell onto the usher Master Gallard and nowhere near her – wasof precedence. The family and those guests of very highestestate would sit at the high table. The tables down the hallwould seat the guests of lesser rank. Chaucer had countedamong his friends and acquaintances folk from as high as dukes andbishops to as low as wool merchants and even craftsmen. To seat them in precedence, giving offense to none, was a delicateart and a diplomatic balancing act. Master Gallard, fussingand over-busy as he always seemed to be when facing far less tryingtasks, managed with surprising skill. For this occasion ofrigorous importance, his fussing had smoothed over into competenthaste. And haste was very necessary in directing servants toguide guests to their places all around the tables before therecould be impatience or open complaint. He had committedeveryone's face and place to memory. There was no order totheir coming, but as they reached him at the door into the hall, hedirected the servants where to lead them with a gesture andbriefest word. In remarkably short while, the guests wereseated along the outside of the tables, and the servers werebringing out the first course of the elaborate meal.

Frevisse, as a member of the family, hadplace at the high table; but because she was not of Chaucer'sactual blood, she was at its far right end, well away from theconcentration of lordliness at its center, where Bishop Beaufort,as a prince of the church and great-uncle to the king as well asChaucer's cousin, held pride of place next to Aunt Matilda, withAlice on her other side. Not even the duke of Norfolk, sentas the king's representative with the royal condolences, hadprecedence over Bishop Beaufort; and Alice's husband, as earl ofSuffolk, was further aside, beyond the bishop of Lincoln.

The high table was nearly the width of thehall itself, and crowded full with others almost as impressive asthose at its center; but Frevisse, overly warm in the church, thenchilled during the windy walk back to the manor house, and nowgrowing too warm again in the crowded hall, was more concerned thatshe might have a headache coming than with conversing with any ofthem. She was not used to headaches and was not sure if herhead's ache were going to increase into something sickening or easeas she grew used to the crowding and noise – even at a funeralfeast, the talk rose loudly with the need to be heard over thevoices of so many others equally talking. But since she wasat the table's end there was no one to her right and the abbot onher left was far too busy talking toward the more important centerof the table to pay more than passing heed to her. Exceptthey shared serving dishes and a goblet between them, he wouldprobably not have acknowledged her presence at all.

To her wry amusement, Frevisse found herselfcaught between annoyance at being ignored and relief that she didnot have to bother with conversation more complex than, “Yes, thankyou, I'll have a little of that.” She ate meagerly, butmostly her attention wandered to the guests at the long tablesbelow her among the bustle of servers. She saw Dame Perpetua,well down the other side of the hall, seated with another nun andSire Philip and a man who was either bald or another priest, it wasdifficult to tell at this distance.

Somewhat nearer along the tables, Frevisserecognized Sir Clement Sharpe with Lady Anne and his nephew Guy oneither side of him. Keeping them apart still, Frevissethought, and wondered how much good it would do him in the end.

Leaning over Sir Clement's shoulder to pourwine into the goblet he shared with Lady Anne, was Jevan Dey. Seen together with his uncle, their resemblance was marked. But where Sir Clement's face was active, open and intent, Jevan'swas shut, without even the small animation he had had when talkingto her with Robert Fenner. Sir Clement had much to answer forthere.

Because of the excess of people, a great manyof the guests were being served by their own servants or, if theirestate was sufficient, their own squires. There was an almostconstant flow of food from the kitchen, entering from the screenspassage and spreading out along the inner side of the U-shape thetables made. The platters and bowls of everything from wheathulled and boiled with fruit to capons stuffed with oysters werearranged on platters to serve people by fours, except at the hightable, where in token of their place only two shared the serveddishes. That meant Frevisse received some attention from theabbot beside her, as he displayed his manners by settingparticularly choice bits on her plate before taking his ownportion. Still unsure of her head and of how her stomachmight respond to so much rich food, Frevisse ate only what she feltshe absolutely must – a chicken wing, a modicum of dried fruitseethed in wine – until the oyster stuffing; she forgot herselfwith that and ate as much as might be. She could not rememberwhen last she had had oysters.

The next course was pies full of beef andcurrants, their juices dark with spices and orange peel. Eachwas surrounded by baked eggs, and Frevisse, her appetite rousednow, cracked one and ate it. That left her mouth dry and shedrank deeply from the goblet she shared with the abbot, wiping herlips first so that no grease might sheen the wine, wiping the rimafterwards where her lips had touched. As she set the gobletdown, the abbot took it up and drank deeply enough to empty it,without bothering to wipe lip or rim; apparently thirst was morethan manners with him. Frevisse averted her eyes from hislapse and refrained from comment as she let him place a share ofthe pie on her plate.

While she ate, her gaze moved absently aroundthe hall. She caught glimpse of Robert Fenner serving alittle ways down the table in front of her, but did not see SirWalter. Dame Perpetua was speaking with Sire Philip, theirheads close together to be heard. Sir Clement, she saw, wasshifting a fist-full of bones from his plate to the voiding platterin front of him that showed he had taken the greater share of thechicken that should have been split equally among him, Lady Anne,Guy, and the man beyond him. So he was greedy as well ascontentious. How many other sins did he so fully indulge in?Frevisse wondered. She watched with amusement as Lady Annedrew him into conversation over the goblet they shared while Guydrew the large custard Jevan had just set before them towardhimself and gave large portions to himself and the man besidehim.

Then someone moved directly in front of her,blocking her view but bearing a welcome pitcher of wine. Frevisse glanced up in gratitude – she was thirsty again – thensaid with outright pleasure at a familiar and friendly face,“Robert! What are you doing?”

“Waiting on you, my lady, and anyone elsebetween the whiles Sir Walter needs me. He's down the tablesfrom you only a little way, in heavy talk with an archdeacon overthe cost of masses for the dead. Look – no, you can't see himfor the fat justice of common pleas in the way, and he can't seeyou-”

“Which should help both our digestions,”Frevisse put in.

“True,” Robert agreed. He set thegoblet back on the table, filled to a neat margin from the rim and,still leaning forward, asked too low for anyone else to hear in thegeneral loudness of the hall, “How is it with the LadyThomasine?”

“She's Sister Thomasine these three years,”Frevisse said gently. “And it's very well with her. She's happy.”

“God keep her so,” Robert said, and went awaydown the tables to fill other people's goblets.

Frevisse said softly, “He does.” Shetook the goblet before the abbot's hand reached it, to drink deeplyenough both to satisfy her thirst and leave him waiting for anotherserver to satisfy his own. There were ways of being rude thatwere far more polite than his.

But her thoughts stayed with Robert. Three years and he still remembered a love he had known barelythree days, had never had any real hope of even then, and had neverseen since. Was it truly love with him? Or only thelonging after Love that settles for the lesser thing, fixing theheart on something of the World because to fix the heart on theThing Invisible that was the core and creation of Love in its fullreality took more courage than many wanted to give to theirlives.

Frevisse's own choice had been made beforeshe was Robert's age, and she still barely had an answer forherself, let be anyone else.

She became aware of disturbance down thehall, heads turning toward rising voices and servers drawing backfrom one part of the tables.

“Now, pray, what is this bother?” the abbotsaid in distaste.

“Sir Clement Sharpe,” Frevisse said, seeingthe center of the trouble.

“Ah, yes. Of course,” the abbot agreed,unsurprised, and reached for the new plate just set down beforethem laden with minced meat shaped like pears and gilded with eggyolk touched in one place with cherry juice to heighten theillusion, with a fragment of almond for a stem. Frevisseignored the plate to watch Sir Clement, on his feet shouting at theman on the far side of Lady Anne, also on his feet and shoutingback at him. The general noise of the hall was too great forFrevisse to understand what they said; but Lady Anne was cowereddown between them, while their near neighbors were crowding awayalong the benches from whatever was going to happen. ExceptGuy, who, behind Sir Clement, was rising to his own feet andreaching out to his uncle's shoulder.

Realization of what was happening had spreadthrough the entire great hall now. Conversations died into ahush just as Guy gripped Sir Clement's shoulder from behind and SirClement turned on him, knocking his hand away and shouting, “Keepyour hand off me, you murderous young whelp!”

Then Sire Philip was there, gesturing Guyback while interposing himself between Sir Clement and the otherguest. Aware of how many were straining to hear him, he spokelow, first to Sir Clement and then to the other man. Guy hadsubsided onto the bench again; Frevisse saw him and Lady Anneexchange looks and Guy shake his head, all unseen by Sir Clementwho was now arguing with Sire Philip.

Or beginning to, because as Sir Clementleaned his face into the priest's, his voice rising again, SirePhilip made a small but definite gesture past him toward the hightable in forcible reminder of where they were and who waswatching.

Frevisse doubted Sir Clement neededreminding; again he gave her the impression of a man exactly awareof what he was doing, and enjoying it. But Sire Philip'sgesture gave him excuse to straighten, swing around and make aflourishing, apologetic bow to everyone at the high table, andanother to the widow and Bishop Beaufort in particular. Thenhe caught up the goblet from between himself and Lady Anne, held ithigh, and declared in a voice that carried end to end of the greathall, “But if I'm wrong in this matter, may God strike me downwithin the hour!”

As dramatically as he had bowed to the hightable, he downed what was in the goblet in a single toss, set itdown with a defining clunk on the tablecloth, looked all around ateveryone, and sat down abruptly, straight-backed with pride andenjoyment of every eye on him.

“He's always doing that,” the abbot observedfor Frevisse's ear alone. Through the hall a broken murmurwas passing, people bending to explain something briefly to one oranother, and then voices rose again in ordinary talk.

But Frevisse, still shocked to the heart bySir Clement's words, turned to the abbot. “What did yousay?”

Cutting into his illusion pear, the abbotsaid, “He's always doing that. Swearing he's right and mayGod strike him down within the hour if he's not. Some day Godmay oblige him, and he'll be quite surprised.”

A server set a dish of minted peas in frontof them. The abbot lost interest in her again.

Robert returned to pour more wine. “Don't look so horrified, Dame Frevisse. Almost anyone who'sbeen around Sir Clement more than half a day has heard him saythat.”

“But it's blasphemy, daring God thatway! And to do it so casually-”

“But it's dangerous only if he's wrong, andSir Clement never believes he's wrong.”

“What of the poor girl, caught in the middleof all that? How long until she comes of age and is rid ofhim?”

“Lady Anne is as vulnerable as a hedgehog,”Robert said without malice. “All soft eyes and gentle waysand a thousand spines. Whichever of them marries her, hewon't have as lovely a time of it as he thinks he will.”

He was moving away as he said it, and gonetoo far for Frevisse to ask who besides Guy wanted to marry thelady. But it was hardly a difficult guess. The angrymoments outside the chapel had revealed Lady Anne's relationshipwith Guy; and by his fury it would be no surprise if Sir Clementwere interested in marriage with her, too. Of course he hadthe upper hand in the matter because while she was his ward hecontrolled her marriage. He could not, by law, force her tomarry against her will, but the law also provided severe penaltiesfor her if she refused a reasonable match he made for her. And there were subtler ways than the law to make her life a helland bring her to his will, if he chose to take it that far.

Frevisse took a deep draught of thewine. Her head was surely tightening itself into a headache,and there was at least another hour left to this feast. Sheregarded her illusion pear and the dish of peas with distaste; shewas used to far simpler food at St. Frideswide's, and had alreadyeaten more meat than would usually come her way in a week. Later her stomach would certainly have something to say about therich assault she had made on it.

There was another commotion from where SirClement sat, and people were again drawing rapidly away from him,this time Guy and Lady Anne among them, so that very suddenly SirClement was alone, still seated but bent forward toward the tablewith both hands clutching at its edge as red-faced with effort hestrangled for breath.

“Well!” said the abbot. “Perhaps God'sgrown as tired of him as the rest of us have and decided to judgehim after all.”